- Pat Conroy - Beach Music
I’m listening to David Bowie and thinking about my Mom. Growing up in my house was to grow up in a house full of music, including the Thin White Duke. I can hardly listen to Bowie and not cry. That’s what the memory does for me. The music brings to life the memories of my childhood, when my Mother and I would dance, we would sing, we would sway and we would love. Like every mother and daughter since the beginning of time, my Mom and I had our issues, but I never ever ever doubted that I was loved. That’s the biggest gift my Mama ever gave me. She loved me fiercely, unconditionally and with every fiber of her being. She instilled in me a love of good music, and did we ever rock the F** out. We went to countless shows together followed by late night dinners at either Mr. Lucky’s or The Peppermill.
We sang together in the car with the windows down and driving faster than we were supposed to, we sang at karaoke spots and piano bars, we sang in the house. I remember watching Florence & The Machine on some show, and there’s a spot where Florence’s voice just cracks with pain and it’s so damn beautiful, and my Mommy turns to me and says, “we know that pain, don’t we honey” Man, I miss her. I miss her. I would give ANYTHING to hug her just one more time. A really good one too, you know those full body, super long and loving hugs? One of those. I miss sharing life with her, but I am so so lucky that I had her for as long as I did.
